A Brother's Love & A Brother's Hate
by raigirl87
Summary: Sequel to ABL&AFH. Both T'ort and Z'ite are dragonriders now. T'ort hates his brother for what he did and Z'ite tries to make amends. Bad language, BrotherxBrother, explicit material, you have been warned.


_((This is the sequel to ABL&AFH. Lots of cussing because that's just T'ort's (formerly Thyiort) personality. I used the word "fuck" in with the typical Pernese oaths because -even though it is not used in the books- I feel that it is a word that would withstand thousands of years of change in the human dialect. It expresses emotion too perfectly to ever be wiped from the mouth of society. You have already been warned, don't flame if didn't care to read the summary._

_EDIT: I have been notified that 'fardles' is the appropriate replacement word for 'fuck' in the books. Still, it will remain as it is as I feel 'fuck' has more of the emotional emphasis that I was trying to portray in this fic. Thank you ))_

"Ten sharding Turns. What the fucking shells could he possibly want here?" Anger poured from T'ort's mouth like a cauldron bubbling over with a rancid stew. The brownrider had been unfortunate enough to witness the descent of a bluerider transfer to the Weyr he made home.

He hadn't recognised him at first. He probablly would have not given the arrival of another bluerider a second thought if his brown, Asoranth, hadn't been in a good enough mood to greet the pair. The dragon had relayed the names back to T'ort with such innocence that it had made T'ort sick to his stomach.

"Z'ite," the brownrider spat as if the name was a foul taste in his mouth. It wasn't enough that Asoranth had found a mate in a green ridden by a sharding fagot. T'ort couldn't scrub hard enough to get the feel of that man's skin off of him. Too many times he had woke up in that man's presence, even before he had ever felt the warmth of a woman.

He detested _them_ and their ways. It was wrong, it was disgusting, and it was the only part of dragonrider life that he hated. He never before been able to put his finger on the exact reason why greenriders and their boylove sent hatred and terror up his spine. But at the sight of the blue pair, suppressed childhood memories flooded his mind with more horror than the death keel of dragons.

T'ort turned from his weyrledge to the looking glass on his wall. The face that looked back at him was dark skinned with a wide nose and a shaved head. Brown eyes and large lips both scowled with years of fear that had been turned to hate. "Why now? Why fucking now?"

"T'ort?" A softer voice came from his sleeping chamber and a slender figure stepped out wearing T'ort's tunic from the day before. "What's with all the cursing?"

T'ort turned to his weyrmate, a woman whose green dragon Asoranth cared nothing for. She was so dear to T'ort, but he was not one who could say the words. But it didn't matter, she knew his heart even if he didn't. She knew his attitude and she knew his temper. But not even she knew his past.

"I have some things to take care of," he said in a very controlled voice. "Why don't you go get some breakfast." He relaxed his frown, which was as much of a smile as T'ort would make, and she nodded. T'ort watched her dress from the doorway of his sleeping chamber as if trying to secure in his mind the attraction he felt for her. She kissed him before she left him to his troubles.

His troubles manifested themselves, first, into a bottle of wine. It was hot, a little soured, and poorly made but it got the job done. He didn't want to be sober when the confrontation was made. However, the confrontation came a little quicker than expected.

_Blue Xyloth and his rider come._ Asoranth delievered the message with little care. Had T'ort's skin been lighter, it would have turned pale at the mention of that name. All T'ort could do was stare at that looking glass, bottle in hand, with the scraping of dragon talons landing on his weyrledge behind him until the unfamiliar voice greeted him.

"Hello, brother." Z'ite's voice was the same tone as T'ort's. Most of their features were the same from the way they walked to their scowls. The only thing different was Z'ite's slightly smaller frame and his more greytone skin that the combined ethnicities of generations had created.

"What the fuck do you want, Z'ite?" T'ort shot his brother a vicious glare.

"What?" Z'ite seemed to be taken aback by his obvious unwelcomness.

"You heard what the sharding shells I said. What the fuck do you want!?" T'ort slammed the wine bottle down on the table near him. The bottle cracked and the sour smelling liquid ran to the floor.

"What's your sharding problem," Z'ite shot back. He hadn't talked to his brother since T'ort had turned 13, and this was nothing like the innocent boy he had left.

"What do you think my sharding problem is? Do you know what the fuck I had to go through from Father because of you? Do you know the ridicule I got all over the hold? This is my escape, where I don't have to think of them or of your ass." T'ort stepped towards his brother. Z'ite was older by three Turns, but somehow T'ort had gotten taller by a few inches.

"What the fuck you had to go through!? Great Faranth, you were the favorite! The one Father knew couldn't do anything bad. Anything you ever did was always _my_ fault." Z'ite took another step forward with every exclamation. "I was the one who was sent away. I was the one who was disowned. I was the bad seed. You have no clue what -I- went through." The two now stood at a foot apart, both breathing hard with their anger.

"Why did you force me into those things?" T'ort yelled back, speaking of the 'teaching' Z'ite had done with him.

"Force? There was no force involved. You asked _me_. Shards, T'ort, what did that bastered of a man do to you after I left? What has changed you? I was the only sharding person in that house to ever love you!" Z'ite threw his hands up in the air to emphasise his point. T'ort's fist came flying at his face before he could get his arms back down.

"Don't talk about Father like that." T'ort gritted his teeth as Z'ite was layed out on the floor of the weyr. "Father was a good man who just didn't want his children to become fagots."

"Fuck, T'ort. He was gay. Why the shells do you think he hated me so much? Because he saw me being kissed by another boy, or because that other boy was our older brother who Father was in love with?"

T'ort stood there with shock plastered to his face, which gave Z'ite enough time to get off the floor.

Z'ite continued once he was standing again. "I had seen them together and Father knew it. I talked to our brother a few days later with too many questions on my mind. I ended up asking him how you could tell if it was girls or boys you liked. He told me you had to kiss them, then he kissed me. Father saw it, then yelled at our brother to leave and never come back. He said nothing to me and hadn't said anything since. Until he caught me with you." The bluerider held the gaze of his younger brother, trying to force the truth through his stubborn skull.

In one instant all T'ort had ever know was revealed to be a lie. That coupled with the wine in his stomach to make him dizzy and lightheaded. He staggered for a moment, grasping at the wall for support. The brother instinct kicked in in Z'ite and he was at T'ort's side trying to steady him. T'ort mumbled curses and tried to push the bluerider away, but he knew he need the support. Z'ite walked him back the few paces to the bed in the small weyr. T'ort sat down heavily and placed a hand on his forehead. It was soon joined by his other hand as his elbows rested on his knees.

"I still love you, T'ort," Z'ite said with such conviction that it gave T'ort a second wind. In an alcohol propelled rage T'ort flew from the bed and landed his fist in Z'ite's stomach. With a gaging cough, the older brother fell to his knees.

"Its your fault!" T'ort screamed at him. Outside by his dragon's couch, Xyloth roared. One hit was tolerable but two was unacceptable. Asoranth hissed at the blue, telling him to stay his ground.

Z'ite's own fire was fueled by the screeching of his dragon and he came up with a blow to T'ort's ribcage. He followed it by an uppercut to his jaw. T'ort spit a stream of blood out onto the rock floor and rushed Z'ite again. This time, the bluerider met him punch for punch, blocking and retruning with equal force. It was far from unacceptable behavior for dragonriders to be engaging in, but if anyone was even aware of it, there would be no volunteers to tell them so. Z'ite caught T'ort in the head with an elbow but T'ort brought up his knee, again hitting Z'ite's stomach. T'ort had ahold of the man's tunic as he bent over in pain. With another shout, he threw Z'ite towards the bead, aiming at its wooden frame.

Z'ite tucked and rolled when he hit the edge of the bed, sending him onto it instead of colliding into it. T'ort marched towards him with his mouth stuck in a grimace. Z'ite smiled with a small chuckle. T'ort paused at the edge of the bed as he was about to reach for his brother to drag him back out into the weyr, wondering what was so funny.

"You have an erection," Z'ite noted, confidently. T'ort was even more aggrivated as he looked down to confirm what Z'ite said was true. With a grunt, he reared back and punched through the straw and fur mattress on his bed. Z'ite's amused look was washed clean and he scrambled to get off the bed. When T'ort grabbed his leg, Z'ite kicked at his face, which ended with his other leg getting caught in the dark man's grasp. T'ort made a whipping motion with Z'ite's body similar to what you would do if slinging crumbs off of bedfurs.

As Z'ite's body smacked back on the hard bed, T'ort was able to roll him over and drag Z'ite to him. "You want me to be like you!? Fine!" Throwing Z'ite's feet to the floor, he held to the seam of his brother's pants. He pulled his own down then his brother's in turn.

Z'ite was disoriented and too shocked at T'ort's motions to fight back enough to get away, although he had the strength to do it. Snapping out of it, he watched over his shoulder in disbelief, knowing T'ort wouldn't go through with it, not out of spite. But T'ort's eyes met his and they were void of any anger. Z'ite was taken back to a night long since gone when those same eyes looked at him just as they did at that moment.

But T'ort still hated it. He hated himself, he hated his Father, he hated Z'ite. He didn't want to be like that. He just couldn't see past all those Turns of drilling into his head how wrong it was. He hated that feeling of waking up with that man whose green Asoranth alwaysed chased, knowing he hated what he had done, but had never even once tried to find an alternative outlet to the end of the flight. His body wanted it as much as he wanted to avoid it, and that lack of controll just added to his pain and anger.

The rage had subsided as he lubed his shaft with a handful of bloody spit. He locked eyes with Z'ite and he knew, as much as he hated to admit it, that Z'ite could see right through him into that small boy he had been when all these feelings first invaded him. T'ort had made a life out of trying to feel -nothing- and had, unfortunatly, succedded for the most part.

He felt now; frustrated, desperate for the first time in his life. His body and mind were in a vicious battle, and his body's desire was winning him over.

Z'ite didn't make a sound and T'ort pushed his way through him. The two turned their eyes away from each other. Z'ite closed his and gripped at the furs, teeth clenched in a mix between a smile and a grimace. His battered stomach and bruised ribs complained at the pressure of the bed, but he took the pain with the pleasure.

T'ort looked down at himself and the contrast between their different shades of skin. He quickly turned his eyes away, his mind unable to comprehend the sin his body was committing. Opposing waves of hatred and desire, pleasure and disgust shook his body. Large hands gripped the waist below him, so near his own size. He bit his lip as his nails dug into Z'ite's flesh. T'ort allowed his head to fall back with his eyes closed. He reveled in the feeling he had so long fought against.

The pain in Z'ite's side barely registered as the pressure in his groin grew to an almost unbearable level. T'ort was being selfish with the pleasure and his own body released itself. T'ort hissed through his teeth as his body convulsed. Z'ite cringed at the pulsing ejaculation inside of him, aching with the need to release as well.

T'ort pulled out with a jerk and turned away from the mess he had made of his older brother. He wiped himself off on a dirty tunic layed across a chair. Without a single word to Z'ite, he pulled up his pants and walked to the outer weyr.

"Son of a bitch," Z'ite cursed as he sat up, slowly, on the edge of the bed. He could hear the scraping of talons outside then felt the rush of wind as dragon wings unfurled and the pair left the weyr. Z'ite wrapped his hand around himself, stroking the painfully tender member. Even still, a pleased grin was plastered to his face.

Oh, T'ort would pay for this.

_((Ta-da. I was threatened with being hunted down if I didn't write a sequel, so here it is. Like I really fear for my safety, but it never hurt to give people what they want, anyway. So yeah, T'ort boned Z'ite, Z'ite's still not finished, and there's the possibility of a prequel hidden in there somewhere. Reviews make me write more. I do feel this one might need something so constructive criticism is much appreciated.))_


End file.
